


Silver Spoons

by theweightofmywords



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming of Age, Family Drama, Marauders' Era, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theweightofmywords/pseuds/theweightofmywords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The whole world is offered to you on a silver spoon, and you’d turn it– your family, everything we stand for- all away. For what? Do we mean so little to you?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Spoons

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling created and owns these characters.

He had laughed when she told him about all of the silverware used at her family balls. From her place at the dining table, Andromeda counted four gleaming forks, along with three spoons, two knives, and three crystal glasses. As the food appeared on the table, Andromeda began to reach for the serving spoon. Her hand froze when she heard her father clear his throat.

“Andromeda, that is what the help is for,” he stated.

She nodded and placed her hands in her lap. The weight of her sisters’ glares felt heavy in her lungs. She gave a terse smile.

“Of course,” she breathed.

Despite the large number of people at her family’s annual Christmas ball, Andromeda felt alone. While taking dainty bites of the lavish elf-prepared dinner, Andromeda retreated to the memories in her mind. Secret letters concealed by charms, buried deep within books too boring for her sisters’ tastes. Warm laughter, bitten lips, hidden smiles across the Great Hall. Strong hands, rough against her own, yet gentle- always gentle- as they held her close.

She smiled absentmindedly as she listened politely to the conversations around her. Her long gowns swept around her as she danced with various boys– potential pureblood suitors, no doubt. She provided vague answers when people questioned her political leanings, making sure to leave conversations before they could turn too ugly.

Standing in a corner, she looked out at the Black Manor’s ballroom, candlelight reflecting off the ancient mirrors set with gold. She spotted her sister dancing with Lucius Malfoy, as a full orchestra played in the background. Narcissa was happy to take part in what would likely become an arranged marriage. The thought of marrying someone her parents deemed suitable ripped the air out of her lungs. 

“Would you really be so stupid to do such a thing?” Narcissa had hissed after the Halloween feast. She had caught Andromeda sneaking back into the Slytherin dorm, drunk on firewhisky and something else.

“The whole world is offered to you on a silver spoon, and you’d turn it– your family, everything we stand for- all away. For what? Do we mean so little to you?”

“Andromeda,” her mother approached her. A boy around Andromeda’s age was at her side. “There is someone I’d like for you to meet.”

Andromeda schooled her features into something pleasant and bowed her head politely. The boy waltzed her around the ballroom and later spoke of his aspirations to rise through the Ministry on a pureblood supremacist platform. As he tried to kiss her later that night, she smiled again. Under the pretense of being a modest pureblood woman, she fled to her room, and it was only when she had slammed the bedroom door behind her that she felt her smile crumble. 

She wandered to the kitchens using the Manor’s hidden staircases.

“May I have a spoon?” she asked one of the house elves, her voice trembling.

Sneaking into Narcissa’s room, she laid the spoon across her pillow, and with shaking hands, she wrote her a letter.

“I’m sorry, Cissy. This world is not for me. Forgive me. I love you.”

And while her sisters and suitors, and her father’s friends, danced amidst talks of gentility and genocide, she packed her trunk, careful to include her heirlooms. She did not spare a second glance at her bedroom before she closed the door a final time. 

Standing by the fireplace in her mother’s parlor, she held the Floo powder in her hands. 

“Ted’s Tonks’ house,” she declared. She threw the powder into the fire and left.


End file.
